Hallelujah
by GreenGirl47
Summary: Faced with the bleak prospect of an X-mas Eve alone, Anya decides to spend it in a bar drowning her sorrows. But when she runs into another Scooby outcast, her holiday takes a turn for the better. (I know it's way late for an X-mas fic, but R & R anyway).


A/N: I know X-mas is way over, but the inspiration for this fic was apparently my muse's gift to me and she wouldn't let me unwrap it until X-mas morning. And then as soon as the package was opened, the bitch abandoned me. So now it's January 25th and I have no idea when this fic will be done or where the hell it's even going. The only thing I know for sure is *damn* S7 Spike is hard to balance!

Disclaimer: Anya and Spike belong to Joss, the lucky bastard. The song lyrics used are from "Hallelujah" by Rufus Waintright. 

[Faced with the bleak prospect of an X-mas Eve alone, Anya decides to spend it in a bar drowning her sorrows. But when she runs into another Scooby outcast, her holiday takes a turn for the better. (I know it's way late for a X-mas fic, but check it out anyway. My muse is a b!+(h). R for language and other stuff.]

Anya sat listlessly on the windowseat in her tiny living room overlooking urban Sunnydale. She stared down into the street, not actually seeing what she was looking at. She'd passed it all enough times since the end of November to know what was out there. Green and silver garland snaked up telephone poles, oversized wreaths choked the streetlights, shop windows drowned in waves of Snow-In-A-Can, and strings of multicolored Christmas lights flashed and blinked in patterns erratic enough to give a stroke to anyone who looked for too long. 

'Yes,' Anya thought sardonically. 'Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.'

She sighed and stood up, suddenly struck with the need to get away from the window. She crossed the few feet to her "compact yet efficient kitchen area" and took a moment to survey her lifestyle: the table was covered with paperwork for the store and hadn't been eaten on in days; she was pretty sure the refrigerator held only meager offerings and that her cupboards were equally bare. On the wall hung a day-by-day calendar that still claimed the date was December 14th, ten days past. The only light in the partitioned room came in the form of a chartreuse glow from the clock on the stove. 

It was 9:33 PM. 

It was Christmas Eve. 

And she was alone.

Depressing as this was, Anya had to admit that it was mostly her own fault. Buffy had invited her over for dinner and she'd declined the invitation. It's not that she *wanted* to be alone, she just wasn't in the mood to fake holiday cheer while exchanging gifts and singing silly Christmas carols with people who felt obligated to be friendly toward her. Lonliness was more bearable than emptiness, she thought.

A few more seconds frozen in her own misery made her aware that the feeling that made her want to leave the window was back and yelling at her to leave the apartment. She didn't try very hard to shut it up; instead she went to her bedroom, stripped down to her underwear, and started deciding what she was going to wear to the one place she knew would be open on Christmas Eve-- Danny's Place, a bar around the corner from the Magic Box. Yeah, it was cheap and seedy, but at the moment it seemed a hell of a lot less cheap and seedy than the place she called home.

Anya took her time picking out her outfit for the night. She didn't have anyone to dress up for, but she figured if she was going to go and get smashed she might as well look good doing it. She stood in front of the mirror on her closet door in just a pair of jeans and a black bra whose straps hung limply off her shoulders, and frowned at her reflection.

'When did I get so skinny?' she thought, running her hands over her stomach. 'I'm beginning to resemble a skeleton. That's frightening. And why is my bra so loose? Are my breasts shrinking? Oh my God, they are! That's even more frightening!' She shook her head. 'I guess I'll be spending some quality time at the grocery store after the holidays.'

After pulling a form-fitting, navy-blue knitted sweater on over her head and replacing the jeans with a pair of flared khakis, she went to work on her hair. Most of the chocolate-brown dye had washed out and left behind her natural mahogany color; her perm had deteriorated, too, and now the wave in her hair was just barely perceptable. She left it down, satisfied with its shoulder-length reach. 

Makeup was minimal that night, just a tiny bit of black eyeliner and whispy gray eyeshadow, and one coat of sticky-smooth lipgloss. She'd never had a problem with her face; she'd made sure when creating her human form that it was as attractive and low-maintenance as possible.

"There's *one* mistake I didn't make," she muttered as she gave herself a last once-over and grabbed her purse from the dresser. She walked back through the apartment ignoring her peripheral vision, just wanting to get to the door without breaking up. The handle squeaked in protest as she turned it and stepped out into the hallway, then shut the door and headed into the unseasonably cool December night.

The short walk to Danny's Place was-- thankfully-- uneventful. Anya didn't know what kinds of evil things were lurking about waiting to wreak holiday havoc and indulge in fatal festivities, but she certainly didn't intend to find out. Luckily, the only thing even slightly suspicious that she ran into was a group of carolers outside the bar bedecked in full winter jackets, scarves, and hats.

"You do realize you're dressed extremely inappropriately for sixty-five degree weather, don't you?" she commented as she passed them on the way to the entrance.

"Hey, where's your holiday spirit?" one of them called after her.

"I left it in my other pants," she retorted sarcastically, then let herself into Danny's Place.

She wasn't surprised when she opened the tinted glass door of the bar and found that there were only three other people there: a tall, skinny man wearing a ratty UC Sunnydale sweatshirt who sat in the corner nursing a beer; a rather large, brawny-type guy glued to the InfoMercial on the TV mounted behind the bar; and the bartender, an interesting-looking, slightly androgynous man named Merv who was more pretty then he was handsome. Anya wasn't completely sure, but she was willing to bet he was an after-hours incubus.

After placing her purse down on a stool, she climbed up onto an adjacent one and shot the bartender a charming smile.

"Well hey there, Miss Anya. What're ya doin' in here all by yerself on Christmas Eve?" he asked her.

"Well, Merv, seeing as I have nothing else to do, I figured I'd come to my favorite bar and drown my self-pity in alcohol." 

He cocked his manicured brow. "Always an ah-ffective way to spend a holiday."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't I know it. And what, may I ask, are *you* doing here when you have a family at home?"

Merv grinned, pulling a shot glass out from under the counter. "Payin' fer the little guy's presents. Ya wouldn't believe the cost of toys these days. It's Goddamned ridiculous." He plunked a bottle of Jack Daniels down next to the glass. "The reg'lar, I presume?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"Comin' right up." He tipped the bottle's square neck into the shot glass and let the amber liquid give a few healthy glugs before stopping the flow. "There ya go."

"Thank you," Anya said, and picked up her drink.

"Welcome," Merv replied, eyes widening as she tipped her head back and unfazedly downed the shot.

"Set me up with another?"

He shook his head in amused admiration. "Tell ya what-- how 'bout I jest let ya have yer way with the Jay Dee and ya can pay fer whatever ya use when ye're finished. Ya can consider it a Christmas present."

She gave him another smile. "You're too good to me."

"Nah," he said, waving her off. "Yer jest a preferred customer. Ya tip really well 'n all--"

The sudden jingle of the bells on the door interrupted Merv's comment on Anya's tipping habits.

"Speaking of preferred customers!" he exclaimed, grinning toward the entrance. "How ya doin' old boy?"

"Hello, Merv," came a familiar voice. 

A deep, thick, accented, familiar voice.

A voice familiar enough to make Anya put the JD down and turn around.

She gave a small gasp as she recognized the person hanging up his coat. "Spike."

The blond vampire looked over at her, the expression of surprise on his face as he saw who she was clearly communicating what she said next.

"*You're* the last person I expected to run into tonight."

He started making his way to the bar. "Could say the same for you, Anya. How come you're not at Buffy's?"

She shrugged, giving a false air of carelessness as he plopped down on a stool next to her. "Oh, you know, I just had better things to do than grace *them* with my presence."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "What's that? Getting smashed alone in a nearly-empty bar?"

She shot him an unreadable look. "Touché, Fang Boy. What about *you*? Why'd they decide to let you out of the basement?"

He flinched almost imperceptibly. "Well, Demon Girl, several reasons. Mostly because the First decided to stop fucking with me for the time being. But let's forget about all that for awhile, shall we?" He motioned to her liquor. "Want some help with that?"

She glanced down at the full bottle, then looked back up at Spike with a slight smirk. "That depends. Are we going to end up having half-naked-on-a-table sex again?"

He gave a short laugh. "Only if Merv doesn't mind. Can we get another shot glass over here?"

"Sure thing," he replied.

Spike nodded his thanks as Merv set the glass in front of him, then turned back to Anya. "So, pet, how have things been going for you? New boyfriend yet? Someone you're shaggin' on a regular basis?"

She narrowed her eyes and replied-- not without a hint of bitterness-- "Obviously not. Otherwise I'd be with *him* tonight instead of here." She sighed, exhaling her hard expression into a more despairing one. "Besides, my breasts are shrinking. How am I supposed to attract anyone if I become boobless?"

Spike choked on the shot he was in the middle of taking. "Uh, p-pardon me? *Boobless*?"

She nodded and grimly confirmed, "Boobless."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why exactly do you think you're going to become boobless? Doesn't look like there's too much of a problem to me."

"Well thank you," she replied. "But apparently I've been neglecting proper nutrition, and the weight is coming out of my boobs. That's incredibly illogical of my body to do when I could *really* use a few pounds off my ass, don't you think?"

Spike shook his head, obviously not following her femininely skewed logic. "Anya, pet, I don't think you could use a few pounds off of *anywhere*. You're perfectly lovely the way you are. And are you telling me that you're drinking on an empty stomach?"

She nodded. "Is that wrong?"

"Not if you're looking to throw up your entrails before the night is through," he told her. "Get some food in you. I don't fancy having to hold your hair back while you dry heave all over Sunnyhell."

She started to roll her eyes at his seemingly sarcastic suggestion until the sincere tone he'd used registered with her. "You wouldn't do that for me," she said half-heartedly, wondering if maybe it'd been an auditory illusion.

"Why not?" he countered. "Even before the soul I had the chivalry." He shrugged. "'Sides, I'm not one to let a friend drink herself to the point of being sick and then leave her to her own bile."

She wrinkled her brow. "Beautiful picture."

"It's true though."A small grin crossed his features. "'Specially not a friend who's as good a shag as you."

Anya made a noise of fake disgust and punched his arm in a gender-role display of girlishness, but couldn't contain her own grin. "How sweet," she said, covering up being inexplicably flattered with dryness. It kind of reminded her of his you're-the-only-one-I-wouldn't-bite comments from way back when. Except this time she wasn't drunk to the point of not feeling the need to hide being pleased. "I guess I *will* eat something. I'd feel uncomfortable amounts of guilt ruining your Christmas Eve with my vomit."

Spike's grin faded into a smaller, more ambiguous curvature of the lips. "Anya, luv," he said softly. "Evil things don't generally celebrate Christmas Eve."

She looked at him sideways for a moment. "Spike. You're not evil."

"Yes, I am," he sighed. "I'm a vampire." He flashed his game face at her to punctuate his point.

She rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. "Well, duh. But I mean, you have your soul."

He shrugged, glancing away. "Doesn't change much. Inside I'm guilty as bloody hell, yeah, but I'm still an evil, disgusting thi--"

"No," she said, voice suddenly forceful. "You are not. You are not evil, or disgusting, or a thing."

"You're not a demon anymore, pet," he reminded her. "You can't see these things."

It was her turn to shake her head in confusion at *his* skewed logic. "Spike, don't be an idiot. Anyone, any*thing* can see evil," she told him. "I may not have any extraordinary powers, but I'm not shut off from my senses. I can feel and see and hear as well as anyone else. And right now not one of those senses, not *one*, is telling me there's evil near. You. Are. Not. Evil. And don't let me hear you say that about yourself again. Ever."

Spike stared at Anya silently for what seemed like an eternity; she stared right back, daring him to contradict her, and all the while wondering if he was mad or touched or both.

Finally, he gave her a smile-- a genuinely grateful smile-- and reached out to touch her hand that was idly gripping her shot glass. "Thanks," he said quietly.

She mirrored his soft expression. "Happy to return the favor," she replied just as quietly. After a second or two she squeezed his hand, then turned her attention to Merv, who was pretending to organize bottles of liquor. "Merv?"

He wiped his eyes before turning around. "Yes, Miss Anya?"

"Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to whip up a salad for me?"

Merv shook his pretty head. "Not at all. Jest lemme get ta the kitchen and I'll set ya up with some greenery."

"Thanks, Merv."

"No problem wha'soever. Ya want anything, Spike?" he asked.

"Nah. 'M all set for the moment," he told him. "Thanks anyway."

"All right. Lemme know if ya change yer mind," Merv said. "Oh, and Anya?"

"Yes?"

"Salad's on the house, dear." He shot her a weepy grin before trotting off to the kitchen.

She gave an amused chuckle and turned to Spike. "I think he heard our little exchange."

"Is that right?" He rolled his eyes. "Sentimental bastard."

Anya and Spike each took another shot as the clock hit eleven, making it number six for Anya (after, of course, finishing off her salad) and number seven for Spike. Neither, however, was feeling the effects much, so a tacit agreement was made that these were their last, and the cap was screwed back onto the now one third-empty bottle of JD. 

By this time, the two other patrons of Danny's Place had cleared out and Merv was getting ready to close up for the night. The obnoxious neon lights automatically switched off as he went around putting the chairs up on the tables and sweeping what little garbage the other people had left behind the bar.

"So, Anya. What are your plans for tomorrow?" Spike asked her as they got down from their stools.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe if I'm feeling more social I'll go visit Willow and Buffy and Xan--" she caught herself, "*Dawn*. If not, I'll most likely just sit at home and feel sorry for myself. It works quite well, you know."

He nodded, handing her her purse as they headed for the door. He grabbed his coat from the rack and slipped it on, then turned around and called, "'Night, Merv."

"Yes, good-night," Anya echoed. "Merry Christmas."

"'Night, lady and gentleman. Ya both have yerselves a merry Christmas, too!" Merv called back. "I'll see ya after the holiday!"

"Bye, now," Spike said, then opened the door and followed Anya out of the bar.

As they reached the curb where Anya had to cross to start her walk home, she noticed that the speakers on the light poles had mercifully ceased the blaring of holiday Muzak. In its place was the slow introduction for a song that sounded to be primarily composed of piano.

Spike saw she was listening to the music and commented, "Nice change. No more of that sodding electronic *noise.*"

She nodded her agreement. "Yes, this is much more pleasant than the music for elevators they've been playing." She stood a moment before smiling at him. "Well... good-night, Spike. It was nice seeing you again."

He raised an eyebrow at her and snorted. "What are you talking about?"

"Um, excuse me?" she asked, surprised at his seemingly oblique response. She'd expected a traditional 'good-night' in return. "I don't follow..."

Spike folded his arms over his chest. "You really think I'm gonna let a pretty thing like you walk home alone on the Hellmouth on Christmas Eve? Not a chance."

Anya's smile returned, magnified by a thousand. She let out a laugh. "You know, I always did love that chivalry."

He smiled back and offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. In a silent limbo of contentment and some other unnamed emotion, they began the walk back to her apartment.

As they passed the first speaker-mounted streetlight, the introduction of the song that had started to play melted into lyrics sung by a rich, medium, male voice:

__

I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this-- the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled King composing hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...

They walked wordlessly arm-in-arm down the bedecked streets of Sunnydale, each thinking their own separate thoughts about what had gone on since the last time they'd spent real time together to make them so sad and trodden down. Each was longing for a different person, for a different kind of touch, but both were lonely and glad for the company the other provided, even if it was just temporary.

__

Your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you. She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throat, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...

For the first time in a very long while, the whole Buffy-Spike situation skirted through Anya's consciousness. Spike *was* broken; it was because of the Slayer, and he'd only broken himself more trying to be what he thought she wanted. Anya couldn't help feeling resentment toward Buffy for what she'd put Spike through, for what he'd willingly gone through for her in the name of some twisted love. It was tragic, really, how watered down with guilt he'd become. He was reduced to a shadow of his former self.

But then again, Anya thought, she knew where he was coming from.

__

Maybe I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch; love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...

They reached her apartment building in just a matter of minutes, but those minutes felt more like quiet hours. 

Spike walked with her until she got to her door and waited while she unlocked and opened it. She switched on the lamp that sat on a table right inside the doorway, then stepped back out into the hall to say good-night.

"Well, Spike," she said. "Thank you for walking me home. It was really very nice of you."

"'S no problem, luv," he replied, putting his hands into his pockets. "Thank *you* for the drinks and company."

She shook her head. "*I* should be thanking you for that. I was planning on being alone tonight, even though I really didn't want to be. Thanks for showing up."

He smiled. "It was a fortunate accident, I guess. I enjoyed it as much as you did."

She smiled back, holding his gaze. "I'm glad to hear that."

There was a beat of silence before he said:

"Well. I should go. Let you get to bed or whatever..."

She nodded, eyes still locked with his. "Yeah. But Spike..."

"Yeah?"

"I just... thanks again," she said, voice low. "For tonight. And last time, too. I never thanked you for that."

"Ohhh," he responded. A flash of understanding passed across his face. "You're welcome, luv."

She nodded again, transfixed by his sincere expression.

A moment passed before she realized that they had begun to lean toward each other. The breath was sucked out of her with a sudden slowness, as if there was a camera crew inside her doing a dolly in/zoom out on her lungs; there were milliseconds between their mouths.

Finally, the milliseconds ran out, and they kissed. It was a sweet, gentle, chaste kiss, tongueless but not without an element of friendly passion. It lasted a good ten seconds before Spike pulled back and grinned.

"Well. Good-night, Anya," he said.

"Good-night," she replied with a small smile. "Merry Christmas."

"You too, pet." He brushed her hair out of her face. "I'll see you around."

"Yes, you will."

He laughed. "Yeah, I will," he repeated. "Bye, Anya."

"Bye, Spike."

And with that, she watched him walk away, out into the cold. As she closed the door and retreated back into her equally cold apartment, she smiled to herself. This Christmas Eve hadn't turned out anywhere near the way she'd thought it would. 

It hadn't been bad at all.

__

Hallelujah.

FINIS


End file.
